I'm Sorry for the Quiet... Good Luck Sleeps in a Fridge

The blood of a Happiness, recently murdered, trickles on in a fridge. Maybe it’s still breathing… What does it take to bring it back to life? It's a parody on mystery thrillers and paranormal romances—it’s a “how to” manual on how to make do and get by starting with food we eat and thoughts we think because, like Buddha said, “we are what we think.” We are “what we eat” as well as what we comply with nowadays in order to survive. They are very clever, our invisible coaches. First, they have estranged love out of the equation through various methods that our modern world is full to the brim with. Then they’ve spread the word, promoting various experts’ views, that our life is ours alone, and we should be prudent about building and sharing it with those special persons that turn our world around. Instead, we’re given a Rubik’s cube of diverse options and supplements, including love as just another silly square. You can do without it! Something is missing, though, you can feel it. You have your shopping friends, your dancing friends, your yoga friends, your acclaimed drink and fuck buddies...but you have no one to turn to, no one to spill your guts to, when you take your mask off. It’s worse if you don’t wear it, or if you don’t own one. Then you’re invisible in the world of numbers and gadgets. If you don’t have a phone, no one can call you. You can’t promptly use Facebook, either. If you don’t use it at all...where do you put your pictures for the world to see? Where are you going to look cool, and oh, so vain, pretending it’s only natural? Who are you going to share with your witty little ditties, and who’s going to praise and like you fifty-three times a day or, at least, one or two?